


Unstable Compound

by Unsentimentalf



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-19 13:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3612282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unsentimentalf/pseuds/Unsentimentalf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake is determined to strike a blow against Terra Nostra and the Federation, but he can't even be certain about the loyalties of his own crew.   Avon, negative and critical even at the best of times, has started behaving in a rather peculiar manner; is it just a game, or is something else going on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Blake closed the door on the empty corridor and collapsed into his favourite armchair with a sense of deep exhaustion. 

That had been a disaster narrowly averted and, as Avon had of course had to point out, all of his making. They'd gained nothing except the knowledge that Terra Nostra was just another card in the deck stacked against them, unless you counted a pet mushroom for Cally. And now he had to think of some other scheme, implement it despite Avon's sneers and hope that this time they would get something out of it, or at least all survive. Liberator was a gift to the cause; he had a responsibility to use it but it hadn't come with instructions attached and it wasn't as if the rest of them ever came up with their own ideas. Just sniped at his. 

He leaned back and closed his eyes. He'd just sit here for a while, unwinding, before bed. 

He was mostly asleep in the chair when there was a rap at the door. He got to his feet heavily. What now? 

"Avon? Is there something wrong?"

"Nothing in particular, as far as I'm aware. "

Avon stood waiting. Blake finally recovered his manners. " Would you like to come in?"

"Yes." Avon walked past him and took his chair. 

"So why are you here?"

"I thought this was as good a time as any for us to talk."

"Really?" That could only be ominous. Blake closed the door. "Refreshments?" 

"No thank you. I doubt that this will take long." Avon didn't seem in any hurry to start, however. Blake thought he'd have a go instead. 

"You're here to apologise for continually undermining my authority, perhaps? "

"And what authority would that be? You're all for democracy, I understand, but I don't recall an election. "

"The others are prepared to follow my lead. "

"The others would follow a stuffed monkey if it meant they didn't have to think for themselves. "

"A stuffed monkey? Is that what you think of me?" Blake wasn't sure whether to be amused or not. 

"Nothing so benign." Avon stretched out his legs. "Your shortcomings as a leader weren't what I can to talk about though. I can do that any time in front of your loyal and deluded crew." 

This was a private conversation, then? Only one thing it could be. "You're leaving." He'd hoped it wouldn't come to this. 

Avon looked surprised. "No. I imagine that I will at some point, of course, but not right now." 

Blake was taken aback by the extent of his relief. "What then?" 

Avon smoothed his hands over the arms of the chair. He looked more than usually angular against its curves. "I thought I'd find out how far you thought this game of ours was going." 

"Are we playing games, Avon?"

"Do I need to dignify that with a response?"

It was, Blake supposed, something like a game. Sometimes. "Then what do you mean by how far? I don't intend to get you killed, if that's what you're worried about." 

"I certainly don't intend to give you the opportunity. Try again."

"I honestly have no idea. I don't even know what the stakes are."

"Then they might well be higher than you're willing to lose. How careless of you to get drawn into a contest under those circumstances."

Avon's obfuscation was definitely part of his gaming. Blake suspected that he was meant to find it annoying but he usually enjoyed the challenge of extracting a direct answer from the man. This visit was turning out rather intriguing; his fatigue was gone. "What stakes do you think you're playing for, Avon?" 

"That's what I'm here to find out. "

That didn't help much. "And how far do you think we are going with it?" 

"That rather depends on you." Avon aimed a dry smile at him. "It strikes me as the sort of game where a man like you might end up rather physical. Is it?" 

Physical? Him? He'd occasionally had to resist the urge to thump Avon but surely so had everybody else? Blake did not consider himself a violent man and he saw no reason why Avon should either. He was about to say so when it occurred to him that 'physical' might have a rather different interpretation. 

"A man like me?" he hedged temporarily. "What sort of man might that be?" 

"Excessively emotional," Avon said with disdain. 

That didn't entirely solve the question of what sort of physical Avon was talking about. Blake tried again. "Perhaps you shouldn't play games with emotional people if you don't like the results." 

"Did I say that I didn't like the results?"

That answered that one. Blake was fairly certain that Avon wasn't angling to be thumped. "So you do?" 

"I am currently agnostic on the subject. Right now I'd just like to know if that's where you think this is going? "

The thought hadn't so much as flickered through Blake's mind up to now. He'd been aware, of course, that he found Avon physically attractive, but had filed it away as just one more of the many perils in negotiating, conversations with the man. There had certainly been no glimmer of reciprocal attraction, unless you counted the game itself, and he hadn't. 

"You're asking if I'm going to make a pass at you at some point in the future?"

"Essentially, yes." 

"Why do you need to know now?" It struck Blake as a particularly bizarre way to go about discussing the subject. "Can't you just wait and see, or even make a move yourself? Or is that what you're doing? " 

Avon looked as if he'd just bitten into a lemon. "I can assure you that it isn't and I won't be. The reason that I need to know is that unlike you, I like to be clear on the stakes at the start of a game." 

"Tell me what your response is likely to be, and I'll tell you if I'm likely to do it," Blake countered. 

Avon stood up abruptly. "That's all I needed. I'll see you tomorrow." He stalked out leaving Blake as surprised by the sudden end to the conversation as he had been by its contents. 

Blake lay awake for a while, unable to sleep, but he was no longer fretting about the failed operation. He was replaying the brief conversation in his head, trying to tease out the nuances. Finally he concluded that he was more or less as confused as Avon had doubtless intended, but one thing was certain. He had no intention of begging favours and letting the man have the satisfaction of refusing him. He could play games at least as well as Avon, and he was going to be damn sure that he knew what Avon's response would be before he said anything at all. 

The next morning neither of them referred to Avon's late night visit. They argued about their next move with possibly a little more vehemence than usual, but then the Terra Nostra debacle was still fresh in everyone's minds. Now that he knew that the Federation controlled the crime syndicate Blake wanted to follow up the organization's operations on one of the other worlds that they were reputed to control, see if something similarly financially crippling to the destruction of Shadow could be arranged. 

"What's in it for us?" Avon demanded bluntly. "What's in it for you, Blake, come to that?" 

"Its a blow against the Federation, and against drug dealers and slavers. That's sufficient for me at least. "

"The reason that you wanted to deal with Terra Nostra in the first place was because its organisation was big, powerful and ubiquitous. Before we throw ourselves into a turf war with them you might like to reflect on our distinct lack of turf. Cleaning up organised crime is not the sort of operation that is suited to six people in a spaceship, however good the spaceship and one of those people might be. "

"I disagree. A surgical strike is something Liberator is entirely suited to. "

" A strike at what, exactly? "

" That's what I'd like you to find out, Avon. What drugs the Terra Nostra are most heavily involved in on Septimus Beta and where those are produced will do for a start. Report back when you're done. Zen, course to Septimus Beta, standard by six."

"Since it is clear that your nose is out of joint and you're determined to shoot at something, I suppose that I'd better find you a target off the ship before you find yourself one closer to home." Avon seized the data pad and walked off the bridge before Blake could come up with a suitable rejoinder. He sighed. Avon was at least doing what he was told. 

 

Avon came back a couple of hours later. "I have your information. Too much to hope that you've calmed down and thought better of the idea I suppose?" 

"I'm perfectly calm," Blake assured him. " What have you got?" 

"Two main drugs are produced and used on Septimus Beta, both controlled by the local branches of the Terra Nostra. Cantholin is a widely used mild opioid closely related to soma. It's grown in huge plantations covering several hundred thousand square miles of the hot and relatively uninhabited equatorial belt. Dekat is a drug synthesised from the byproducts of the plastics industries in heavily guarded laboratories situated in the centre of the three major cities. It's a powerful stimulant with strongly addictive qualities, and a five percent a year mortality rate with about fifty thousand regular users. "

"And your opinion of them as targets?"

Avon shook his head. "If you want to strike from orbit, you won't get the labs without considerable collateral damage to the city. Assuming that a few thousand civilians dead isn't the sort of bold statement you were aiming for, if you want to take out the Dekat production you're going to need to go down there and shoot people who will doubtless shoot back. When I said heavily guarded I meant exactly that. Just the sort of turf war I advised you against, in fact. "

"What about the other one. Cantholin, was it?"

"We could probably destroy most of the Cantholin plantations from orbit with very little if any loss of life on the ground. The farming is heavily mechanised. But you don't want to do that."

" Why not?" Blake thought it sounded like a distinctly promising option. " Is there something you haven't told me?"

" No. It should be obvious from what I've said already that taking out the Cantholin will be a bad idea and going after the Dekat a suicidal one. If you take my advice, which would be a first, admittedly, you'll forget the whole thing. "

" I don't see what's wrong with taking out the plantations." 

"Then you're the only one who doesn't apart possibly from Cally. Ask Jenna or Vila if you really can't work it out for yourself. I get tired of pointing out the blindingly obvious to you, Blake. "

" He's right, you know," Vila said. Jenna just nodded. 

Blake rounded on them in irritation. "Well, someone tell me what's wrong with it!"

"Supply and demand," Vila told him. "Destroy the plantations and what happens?"

"There's a shortage and the price goes up," Blake said impatiently. "That's good. People stop using drugs. Terra Nostra's profits fall ." 

"People stop using that drug," Jenna said." Some of them switch to something legal. Some of them switch to the alternative. Terra Nostra's profits might take a dip but the mortality rate soars."

"Obvious enough for Vila to see it," Avon said dismissively. " But not you, apparently. There's nothing you can achieve on Septimus Prime. We might as well go to Jeta and replenish our technical supplies as I suggested originally. I'll get Zen to recalculate a course... "

"Not so fast." Blake wasn't prepared to see his plans so quickly dismissed. "We'll just have to take out both drug supplies at once." 

Avon sighed. "Of course. Present you with an impossible task and a pointless one and you just have to try to do both." 

Blake wasn't discouraged. They could do this, he was sure. How? He could do without thinking about Avon's brown eyes right now, or yesterday's conversation. He needed to figure out... 

"Industrial process," he said out loud. " We don't need to blow that one up. We just need to sabotage the chemistry. Add the wrong catalyst somewhere along the line, maybe."

Ha! There was a flicker of interest there from Avon. "In four separate plants?" 

"Why not? Two groups of two go down, two plants each. Teleport in, dump whatever it is through an inlet pipe, teleport out. There's no reason why anyone should even know we've been in the plant until the output goes haywire and by then we'll be torching the plantations from orbit."

"Far too ambitious." Avon complained. 

"It sounds safer than a lot of the stuff we've done." Cally commented. 

"Less explosions," Vila agreed. "I particularly like the 'from orbit' bit. "

" If you can find a catalyst," Avon said. 

"Orac can do that." Blake said blithely. 

Orac could, as it happened, pulling the information they needed effortlessly from Terra Nostra's computers. It was able to provide them with a schema of the production process, a map of the sites and the constitution of a chemical that would turn the proto drug into something with the consistency of rapidly solidifying cement, trashing the organisation's very expensive production equipment in the process. Even Avon had to reluctantly concede that the stuff would do the job, if they could get it.

That was the next problem. They didn't need much - a couple of ounces for each plant would do - but as Orac pointed out with what sounded like a certain amount of satisfaction, it had no known industrial uses and did not occur as a natural byproduct. It could find no records of any stores of the catalyst anywhere in this quadrant of the galaxy. 

"We can synthesise it on board." Blake declared. 

"Ah. You're an industrial chemist now?"

"Provided Orac can be an industrial chemist, I imagine that I can manage being a technician." Blake told Avon. "Orac. Can it be synthesised with equipment and supplies either already on board or easily available?" 

Orac conceded that the catalyst could.


	2. Chapter 2

Liberator had been in an undetectably high orbit around Septimus Beta for two days before Blake was ready to start his new job as chemistry lab assistant. Orac had suggested that the volatile catalyst should be stored on board for as short a time as possible. Blake had been slightly taken aback to find that the computer refused to be in the same laboratory or indeed anywhere within a quarter ship length of the procedure. _I will monitor the video feed and advise you via the intercom,_ Orac insisted.

Blake had long since resigned himself to the fact that there was no point in arguing with the box about matters pertaining to its personal safety. "You do the same," he told the human crew. "No point in taking unnecessary risks."

Rather to his disappointment everyone else seems to agree. The process was feasible enough for one person, if longer and more trouble than with two, but he'd quite have liked the company. One company in particular. He'd thought of a couple of things to say to Avon but hadn't found the time and privacy to do so yet. Avon, however, clearly wasn't feeling obliging enough to volunteer for anything, let alone an operation that Orac considered dangerous. So Blake was left alone in his protective suit with his thoughts and the abrupt directions of the computer issuing out of the intercom.

Those directions mainly consisted of alternatively heating, cooling and stirring the half litre of so of greenish blue liquid with various precisely defined levels of vigour. It wasn't intellectually challenging stuff and as the hours passed Blake found himself thinking rather less about the potentially explosive mixture of chemicals in the beaker and rather more about the potentially explosive mixture of people on the ship, or, more accurately, two of the people on the ship.

He did like Avon, he supposed. At least he thought he felt something like that about the man. Things were always that bit tenser when Avon was there; one couldn't be stupid with Avon around, or careless, or too much carried away with enthusiasm, at least not without getting called out on it, at least if one were Blake. Avon always seemed to give the others a bit of an easier ride. Still when Blake had thought the man might be leaving the idea of his absence had not been the relief that it might have been. So yes, he was glad enough to have the computer tech around. 

Avon as a lover, though, his lover? That he couldn't imagine and he'd tried a fair bit over the last few days. Affectionate, passionate, aroused- he couldn’t picture any of them. Or at least he could, technically, having seen pretty much all of Avon's skin bare at some time or another but however eager his mind's eye made the body he always ended up seeing Avon's face atop looking at him with that familiar expression of weary disdain and disapproval. The overall effect was, regrettably, not at all sexy.

If it hasn't been for that very odd conversation he wouldn't have even considered it as a possibility. That made him even more inclined to suspect Avon's motives than usual.

_Stop!_ Orac commanded. _I have now issued that instruction three times. I do not understand why you have failed to comply. Are you dysfunctional?_

"Possibly a little. Sorry." He returned his attention to the beaker which had just started to bubble. "What do I do next?"

_Hold it up near to the camera._ Blake did. There was a brief silence then, _The reaction had become self sustaining._

"Is that bad or good? "

_It happened because you ignored my instructions. Serendipity is a rarer phenomenon than most humans tend to imagine._

Bad, then. "What should I do?"

_Add three drop of the bethyl nitrite. Slowly._

Bethyl nitrite. As Blake searched rapidly through the bottles he could hear another, barely audible voice then Orac again. _There is a fifty seven percent chance that the process can be recovered and a mere 4 percent chance of an exothermic reaction sufficient to damage a human. Given how much of my valuable time would be wasted in starting again..._

Avon's voice interrupted. "Get out of there, Blake. Now!"

Blake responded to the tone more than the words. As the door closed behind him was sprinting up the corridor as far as the protective suit would allow. He didn't stop until he was at least a hundred metres from the lab, leaning against a pillar half doubled over, gasping.

"Zen. Report. Has there been an explosion onboard?"

**Affirmative.**

He was lucky. No. He was well advised. Avon had come through for him… "Damage?"

**A flask has broken in lab six. Minor damage reported to the surface of the table.**

The minor damage turned out to be a sticky brown residue that Liberator's cleaning robots took some time to scour free. Orac announced (without being asked) that the only damage Blake would have received had he been holding the flask at the time would have been an awkward to shift stain on his white gloves. _I predicted that it was not dangerous._

"Inaccurate," Avon said. "You predicted that it was probably not dangerous."

_And it was not. There would not have been even the minor risk had my instructions not been inexplicably ignored._

" I'll get it right next time, " Blake vowed.

_The probability of that depends on the reason for your failure last time. Why did you fail?_

"I was thinking about something else," Blake admitted, and caught a definite smirk on Avon's face. Damn the man's game playing. This was important.

_It is not wise or necessary to think about anything else,_ Orac instructed. _The limitations of the human brain mean that it is not capable of holding one thought effectively, let alone two at once. Merely follow my instructions precisely and promptly._

Blake hated being lectured to by the arrogant machine, particularly in front of Avon, but he'd be damned if he'd give up on the plan either. "We'll start again straight away."

"Since you couldn't follow instructions when awake, I doubt that you'll do any better sleep deprived." Avon said.

It was very late, ship's time. Only he and Avon seemed to be awake and neither of them was probably in the best mood for work or conversation. There wasn't any particularly compelling reason to hurry. Blake nodded reluctantly. "We’ll start again the morning then. Goodnight, Avon." 

Blake expected to stay awake again but as soon as he got into bed he fell almost into a deep and dreamless sleep. He woke late and breakfasted alone. When he reached the flight deck everyone was already there. Almost everybody.

"Where's Avon? "

"In the lab." Cally sounded surprised at the question. She gestured at the screen showing the white clothed and masked figure stirring a beaker identical to the one Blake had used the day before.

"How long's he been in there?"

"All night, I think. "

So Avon had never had any intention of waiting until either of them was rested. "And Orac?"

"I've no idea."

"Zen, where's Orac?"

**At Liberator's front viewport.**

As far away from the lab as physically possible. So much for its insistence on the safety of the operation. It took Blake nearly twenty minutes to struggle back into the environment suit and reach the lab, cursing all the way. Avon had no right to do this. Absolutely none. It had been Blake's scheme, Blake's task and Blake's risk to take. 

The door was unlocked. Blake opened it slowly and gently despite his anger. "Avon!" he called, quietly.

The man looked up. "What do you want?" His voice was a little muffled through the mask.

"I'll take over from here."

"Go away and stop distracting me."

"No. Hand that over. "

Orac's voice came through the speaker. _Add 0.5 millilitres of opraic acid at fifteen seconds intervals for the next three and a quarter minutes. Do not agitate the mixture at all during this period._

"Acknowledged," Avon said, in a fair imitation of a computer himself. He put the beaker carefully and reached for a small dropper.

"I should be doing that," Blake said, rather helplessly.

"You should be leaving. I haven't time for conversation. Orac, give me a countdown to each addition."

_I am not a stopwatch,_ Orac said. _If you were not distracted by your adrenal reaction you would be quite capable of counting seconds._

"Adrenal what?" Blake said, startled. Avon?

Avon sighed. "Zen, give me a 15 second countdown, repeated twelve times, starting on my mark. Blake, go away. This is quite tricky enough without you hanging around." He added several drops to the flask. "Zen, Mark."

Zen started to drone. **Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen.** as Avon refilled the stopper. Blake was trying to remember how far through the process the acid addition took place. Further than he'd got the previous day, definitely. He thought there was maybe another hour left and he seemed to remember that the mixture became gradually more potentially explosive throughout that time. Avon, surely fatigued by now, shouldn't be in here. He had no idea why Avon was here at all.

"Avon."

**Eight. Seven. Six.**

Avon ignored him. The dropper hovered over the beaker. Blake briefly imagined trying to wrestle it from him. Not a good plan. He pulled a stool up to the lab desk and sat down.

It was a long three minutes. Neither Avon nor Orac acknowledged his presence again. Every set of drops made the liquid in the beaker go cloudier and liberated more white gas which stung Blake's eyes until he reluctantly donned the suit's face mask. He was not getting any less annoyed and frustrated.

_Set the heat mat to eighty seven degrees, wait one minute then put the beaker on the mat. Watch it for thirteen minutes. If it starts to boil over, turn the heat down by four degrees and inform me immediately._

"Understood."

Blake waited until the liquid was bubbling steadily on the mat, checked the time remaining his own timepiece then stood up and pushed his way between Avon and the bench, forcing the man to step backwards

"You're done with this now. I'm not risking my ship for whatever stupid game you're playing. Get out."

For a moment he thought Avon would argue or even shove him back, but instead he shrugged barely perceptibly and walked out of the lab.

"We'll talk about this later, " Blake called after him. He intended it to sound intimidating and from the way Avon's shoulders had stiffened he had succeeded.

_Is it really impossible for humans to pay attention to anything but their dysfunctional relationships even for a brief period?_ Orac demanded. _It is extremely annoying to have to witness._

“Shut up,” Blake told it. “You are not to speak about anything but the chemical process until this is finished, and that’s a direct order.”

_Acknowledged,_ it said, tartly.

He did his best to put Avon out of his mind and concentrate on the stuff in the flask. It wasn’t easy but he mostly managed it, at least until the next longish cooling period when he asked for a routine report on any significant activity on Liberator from Zen.

**Kerr Avon has left the ship.** Zen said, emotionlessly.

“What? Get me a link to Jenna.”

“Blake?” Jenna said. “Problem?”

“Where’s Avon gone?”

“Down to the surface. Didn’t you know?”

“When and why?”

“About twenty minutes ago. He didn’t say why. Just asked for a teleport operation.”

“Get him back up here.” Blake glanced at the timer. One minute until Orac’s next instruction.

“How am I meant to do that?” Jenna asked. “He hasn’t got a link open.”

“Use the teleport override. Just do it, Jenna. I can’t leave this now.” He told Zen to close the link and closed his eyes briefly. What the hell was Avon playing at now? Flask. Focus.

Ten minutes later he asked Zen if Avon was back on board yet.

**Negative.**

A few minutes later he asked again.

**Negative.**

What could Avon possibly be doing down there? They'd got everything set up for the raid; they'd got maps, staff movements, exact teleport coordinates. The only thing Avon could do was screw up by letting Terra Nostra know they were coming. If he'd done that, Blake would wring the man’s neck. After all they'd risked, to jeopardise the mission now...

_The process is complete._ Orac said. _You must now transfer the catalyst into the vials. Be very careful. A major exothermic reaction will result from excess agitation._

Excess agitation was just what Blake had too much of right then, but somehow he managed to decant the mixture into the eight vials and seal them. The contents should now be relatively inert until the vials were broken. He wanted to dash straight back to the flight deck but he was sweating and the acrid gas felt as if it had somehow tainted every inch of his skin and hair despite the suit. “Zen, is Avon back on board yet?"

**Negative.** The man had been gone over an hour. Blake ran back to his quarters, stripped and had the shortest practicable shower then pelted back to the flight deck.

"Where the hell is..." he started at Jenna, then saw Avon, typing at his console, not a hair out of place.

Blake ran a hand through his own wet hair. “Where the hell have you been?”

Avon looked up. "Not any of your business."

"Everything you do is my business." He realised that he'd gone too far from Avon's grin.

"Really? You've gone from unelected leader to outright dictator? Will you be searching my room, intercepting correspondence, obtaining reports on my behaviour? " Avon looked round at the others. “Am I singled out for lack of privacy or have we all just rejoined the Federation?”

"Don't be ridiculous!" Blake could have slapped him. "It's nothing to do with privacy. I just want to know what you were doing on planet."

"And I'm telling you that the matter was private." Avon's smile was triumphant. "Your move."

How could Avon possibly have private business on Septimus Beta? None of them had ever been in this part of the quadrant before, unless the man had lied about that as well. 

Blake glared at him. "I don't believe you. And if I find out that whatever you were doing risked this ship and this mission again like you did last night you can forget all your snide comments about leaving - I'll maroon you on the next system we come to." He looked around at his silent crew. "I mean it."

"Last night I took on a dangerous task that you had already screwed up once, Blake, and I did it a great deal better than you had. If anyone can be accused of risking this ship repeatedly, not to mention the people on it whose safety, I note, doesn't get a mention next to your grand mission, it's you." Avon’s look might have been withering to receive if Blake hadn’t been so annoyed. 

"I told you I'd tell you in public when you do a particularly poor job.” Avon went on. “This is it. I suggest you stop trying to harass your allies and we get on with this grand plan of yours before there are any more explosions. You and Gan can take the southern plants, Jenna and I the northern ones. Vila will operate the teleport, Cally and Orac will monitor on-planet communications for reports of the sabotage. Each plant should take no more than ten minutes. As soon as all four plants are confirmed out of order we can bomb the plantations from orbit and get out of here.”

Blake was still glowering at him. "Gan will go with Jenna. You and I will do the northern plants.”

" It would be more sensible to have someone who understands at least the basics of the chemistry in each group."

"Only if I trusted you. Right now and until you start answering my questions I intend to keep you in my sight."

Avon shrugged. "Paranoia is not your most attractive feature but if you insist we'll do it that way. Shall we get this over with?" 

Blake was already thoroughly sorry that he'd ever heard of Septimus Beta. Still, everything was set up now. Provided Avon's mysterious excursion hadn't screwed anything up they could be done with the whole thing in a couple of hours with the only serious damage done being to his relationship with Avon and surely that could be mended? 

"For once I agree. Let's get this done." He picked up the vials. "Don't take any risks down there, anyone. If you can't get it done without getting into trouble just teleport back." When it came to this particular mission Blake had every intention of taking his own advice.


	3. Chapter 3

“Down and safe.” Blake closed the link. Avon was already at the next corridor junction, gun in hand, face mask up.

“All clear.” He glanced round. “Could you please point that thing somewhere else?”

Blake hadn’t been consciously aware that his own gun was aimed at Avon. He lowered it, slightly embarrassed and trying not to let it show. 

“This way.” Avon disappeared around the bend and Blake broke into a trot to catch up. Twelve wall panels along and he came to the hatch shown on the map. Avon was already kneeling beside it, working on the lock with an electronic  
screwdriver.

“Keep watch,” he said without looking up.

“Right.” Blake split his attention between both directions and Avon’s gloved hands. Why had the man come down here earlier? Why wouldn’t he answer Blake’s questions? Why had he involved himself in the dangerous operation of making the catalyst at all? Blake hated this sense of distrust but he couldn’t shake it. 

“A hand?” Avon asked,

“Sorry, yes.” He helped move the loosened hatch aside. Inside the pipework was a valve; they opened the top, slid the vial into it. Avon tapped it with the end of the screwdriver hard enough to break it open and slammed the top back on before the contents could escape. A dial opened the bottom half of the valve and the chemical was hopefully in the system.

“Screw the hatch back on,” Blake directed. “Enough that no-one will notice in the next few minutes, anyway.” Once all four plants were sabotaged it didn’t matter if their methods were revealed. 

Two more minutes and they were back on Liberator, having seen or heard by no-one on planet.

“How are the others doing?”

“Bringing them up now,” Vila said. 

“Have you got the co-ordinates for the next one?”

“Give me a second!” Vila complained, as Jenna and Gen appeared on the teleport pad. “Right. Are you two going down again?”

Blake sighed. They’d rehearsed the whole procedure carefully but Vila always managed to exude an air of incompetence anyway. “Yes. The co-ordinates should already be laid in. Just do it.”

There was the normal uncomfortable tug at Blake’s insides as the teleport took hold. He materialised in another smooth white corridor and his feet promptly slid out from under him; he came down on his right hand hard. “What the hell?”

“Oil on the floor,” Avon said from above him. “Are you all right?”

Blake got to his feet and wiped the oil from his hands off onto his trousers. “Wrist is a bit sore.” It actually hurt like crazy; he thought it might be sprained. “Let’s keep going.” 

Apart from his slip, it seemed at first an exact repeat of the previous raid, until Blake and Avon dragged the hatch free.

“No valve.” Avon said, needlessly. The pipework was smooth and unbroken. 

Blake stuck his head in and shone a torch up and down the area behind the walls. “No sign of one. We’d better drill.”

They had come equipped for the possibility that they might need to drill a hole in the pipework. Blake unshouldered his bag. The device he had put together should drill a hole in the pipework then inject the contents without, hopefully, allowing any of the pressurised liquid to squirt back over them. 

“Not a job for one hand,” Avon said. He took the device and started to drill, carefully. Blake watched him get through the metal and start to inject the catalyst. Then Avon stepped back abruptly.

“What is it?” Blake pushed in front of him, too concerned to be polite, and the entire length of pipe split. Yellow liquid shot up at high pressure into the wall cavity and over his facemask, hissing as it started to eat through the lightweight material. Blake fell backwards into the corridor, scrabbling at the mask with his good hand to wipe it off. 

There were voices, Avon’s and others, but he couldn’t see anything; the mask was sticking to his face now, burning. He tried to yank it off but at first his gloved fingers couldn’t grasp the material. A gun went off close to him- Avon’s, he thought. He was struggling to breathe. He finally managed to pull the mesh off his face, just in time to see Avon’s shape waver and disappear in front of him, revealing a guard running towards him with a gun pointed at his face. Someone shoved him from behind and he fell to his knees, reluctantly raising his hands. 

 

Blake’s throat burned. His lungs ached and he had been doubled over, retching for most of the brief and thoroughly unpleasant journey. Squashed between two men with guns in a flyer and with his hands tied behind his back, Blake could feel the bracelet still snug around his damaged wrist but he wasn’t teleported back to Liberator and no-one came to look for him. 

That preyed on his mind a lot more than the prospect of wherever he was being taken. Why (and how) had Avon gone without him? How had he persuaded the others not to come back for Blake? What were they doing now? Was Liberator still in system, or had it left Septimus Beta and him for good?

“Who the fuck are you?”

Dropped, he collapsed onto his knees, lifted his head with difficulty. A woman on one side of him said, “It’s Roj Blake, Forsen. Off the telecasts.”

“Roj Blake?”

One thing was clear; he had been right not to trust Avon. He should have been far more suspicious than he had been. That nonsense about physicality had been no more than a distraction and he’d fallen for it, fretting over a stupid meaningless attraction while Avon plotted to get him caught in the middle of sabotage and doubtless killed.

Forsen was a large man with what looked like a permanent scowl and the look of a habitual criminal. He stepped forward and slammed a fist into Blake’s face. Blake went reeling backwards into the guards.

“This bastard did it?” Forsen demanded of the woman.

“There were others too,” she said. “This one didn’t get away.”

Forsen waited until Blake was dragged back up onto his feet, then hit him again. It was a rather more direct method of interrogation, or possibly punishment, than Blake was used to. He wasn’t enjoying it and he needed to throw up again. For a moment he thought of Avon, safe on Liberator’s flight deck.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Mauctic acid poisoning. He was exposed while he was sabotaging the plant.”

“Will he die?” 

“If he doesn’t get the antidote soon, yes. It should be here in a couple of minutes.” 

Antidote. He needed to pay attention. Blake finished coughing up burning bile, looked up. “You’re Terra Nostra?” he asked the man.

“Shut up.” Forsen raised a fist to hit him again, then seemed to think better of it. “You’re Blake.”

“Yes.”

“You were involved with that mess on Space City. With the Shadow. You’ve got that alien ship. And now you’ve destroyed my Dekat plants.”

Blake didn’t waste his painful and difficult breath confirming that. Apparently he was meant to because Forsen hit him in the gut this time. When he’d finished coughing and gasping for breath he raised his head again.

“I want your ship. Liberator, that’s its name, isn’t it?” Forsen told him. “You’re going to hand it over.”

“I can’t.” He didn’t even know where it is.”  
“  
“I’m sure you can do better than that. Your crew will do what they are told to get you back.”

“No.” He thought again of Avon. Telling the others that he was dead; that would have been the easiest way. Then they would have left.

Forsen glared at him. “You’d better hope they will.” He walked around behind Blake. “What’s that?” 

The teleport bracelet was yanked from around his sprained wrist and he shouted in pain. Forsen took no notice; he was turning Blake’s wrist around to find the clasp. It came free and Blake pulled back his injured arm, hissing involuntarily.

Forsen waved the bracelet at the woman. “Laila. What’s this?”

She came forward to examine it. “A communicator, I think. It might be connected to the teleport?”

Forsen grabbed it back from her. “Your ship can track you with this?” he said to Blake.

There didn’t seem much point in denying it. Forsen nodded at his confirmation and smashed the bracelet several times with the butt of a heavy knife. Blake saw Laila sigh but she said nothing.

“Going… make…. ‘municating crew…difficult,” Blake told him between gasps.

“We have television broadcasts,” Forsen told him. “When we televise an enemy of the state dying on air I’m sure they’ll get in touch.”

He caught Blake’s confusion. “What’s your problem, saboteur? Not keeping up?”

“Enemy… state?”

Forsen grinned at him. “You really haven’t been keeping up, have you? I’m not Terra Nostra. I’m the government minister in charge of security. Following your little destructive tantrum with the Shadow the local Terra Nostra branch was thrown into some confusion and we took the opportunity to nationalise their assets. It’s government property that you’ve been destroying, which makes you an enemy of the state. And for matters of state security we don’t go in for due process any more. We can all watch you die slowly in front of the TV cameras and no-one will make a fuss.”

So their raid had done nothing against Terra Nostra after all. Avon had researched Septimus Beta. Avon must have known.

 

“We have a transmission. Says it's the Liberator.” 

Forsen smiled. “Put it on screen. And cut the public broadcast for now.”

They had hung Blake up in a doorway so that the cameras could watch his face as his gut twisted endlessly and his breathing became weaker. He could see Forsen, and the screen, if he focussed, but focussing was too hard now for more than a few seconds. They had withheld the antidote that might have saved his life and now he was dying. 

A fuzzy shape appeared that must be Avon, the flight deck behind him "I see you have our lost lamb. We'll have him back now." 

"Hand over your ship and he'll be released."

Avon snorted. "The ship? I don't think so. I need it." 

"I will let him die slowly." Forsen said. "Live on television. You don't want that." 

Avon seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second. Then he shrugged. "Roj Blake makes a useful figurehead for our activities but we can manage without him. The ship is essential for my future plans. I'm prepared to negotiate a moderate sum for his return in one piece but you can forget getting Liberator. Blake's not worth a hundredth of that much to us.” 

Where were the others? Did they know what Avon was doing in their name? Blake didn't want them to give up Liberator but Avon's casual assessment of his worthlessness hurt almost as much as the acid eating into his gut.

It was at least convincing. Blake could hear in Forsen’s voice that he’d just readjusted his expectations. "How much then?" 

"How about the value of this year's Cantholin crop?" Avon suggested. "Minus, say, 5 percent as a demonstration that we're negotiating in good faith." 

Another voice broke in. "Orbital bombardment reported, Sir. Multiple impacts reported in central Wretham district.” 

"The price goes down by five percent every five minutes," Avon said. "If you haven't given him back by the time half your planet’s ablaze you can keep him." 

Forsen pulled the heavy knife out of his belt. "I'm going to cut out his heart in front of you," he snarled. 

"Temporarily gratifying, no doubt, but your electorate will string you up from a lamppost if you wreck their homes and livelihoods. And don't expect the army to protect you, not when fifty three percent of your soldiers are regular Cantholin users."

"And why should they blame me? What will the rabble know?"

"Because I reinstated the live feed that your technicians cut. We're going out live. Now are you going to save your planet or not? Your next five minutes are nearly up." 

"Where the fuck is our fleet?" Forsen demanded of the room in general. "Why haven't they blown these bastards to hell?" 

All he got was blank looks and a couple of shakes of the head. 

"Time's up," Avon said. He turned away from the camera for a moment. He hadn't once looked straight at Blake, let alone addressed him and his tone suggested a general indifference to the man's fate. 

“Take him, then.” Forsen said. Avon didn’t turn back. 

“I said take him!” the man shouted at the screen. “He’s going to die anyway.”

Avon turned at that, without any obvious degree of haste. “Very well. I’ll send someone down to collect him. Touch either of them and the rest of your crop will be cinders.” The screen went blank. 

“What’s happening” Forsen demanded of his technicians. 

It appeared that the fires in Wrethan were spreading but the bombardment had stopped, Liberator was in a high orbit, the fleet was closing in and the President and about half the city were demanding to talk to him urgently. There was more but Blake had ceased to be able to follow it, the pain everywhere inside from mouth to bowels too intense, his breathing too difficult. He was sure that he was going to be dead before his rescue came, if it ever was coming at all. 

He wasn’t even sure who came for him in the end, only that he was being teleported, and eventually that the pain was drifting away.


	4. Chapter 4

Blake’s body crashed into something hard, enough to wake him. A second later he was thrown back the other way. He was floundering in something warm and sticky; for a moment he thought he was drowning, then he recognised the aseptic smell of the med unit gel. 

The ship accelerated sharply again and his shoulder was slammed up against the side of the unit as he tried to extricate himself. Liberator was maneuvuring at the limit of her capacity, far faster than the ship’s gravity fields could compensate for, and that meant trouble.

He struggled out of the tank and collapsed on the floor. His legs weren’t working, and he barely had enough energy to move anything else. His insides felt wrong. His ship was in combat. He needed to get to the flight deck. He tried dragging himself with his arms but at this rate he wouldn’t make it as far as the door. Liberator accelerated again and he was slammed back the three yards he’d made so far and against the outside of the med unit. 

“Zen.” His voice must be so weak as to be inaudible. He tried again. “Zen! Respond!”

**Responding.**

“What’s happening?”

**Liberator is currently engaged in orbital bombardment of the planet Septimus Beta. The ship is being attacked by six warships belonging to that planetary system. Evasive maneuvures and counter attack are underway.**

“Forget counter attack. Get us out of the system!”

**That order conflicts with prior orders issued by Kerr Avon.**

Avon. He couldn’t think about Avon now. He needed to be on the flight deck, needed to save his ship, and he wasn’t sure how long he could stay conscious.

“Get me to the flight deck. Use the internal teleport.” 

**That system is not recommended for human operation.**

“Do it, Zen!”

A tug that sent sparks of pain all through his body and the floor covering that he was lying on changed. He took a couple of seconds to fight off nausea then opened his eyes. 

The first person he saw was Vila, staring down at him from a couple of feet away. Blake raised his head a little to blearily scan the rest of the deck.

“Blake.” Avon’s voice was perhaps a little louder than usual. “God, Blake! You shouldn’t be in here.”

“What are you doing?” he demanded. “Why are we in combat?”

“Gan. Vila. Get him straight back into the med unit and make sure he stays unconscious this time. Cally, lay down planetary pattern fire in five seconds. Then back to high orbit, Jenna. Zen, report on attackers”

**One ship destroyed. Current range of attacking ships 20 to 40 spacials.**

“We’ll gain ourselves a bit of space then go back in. Zen, give Cally the pattern for the next firing.” 

“What’s going on?” Blake demanded again, around the two men carefully lifting him from the floor. On the main screen there was a brief close up of the planet surface, almost invisible under palls of black smoke. “Why are we attacking the planet?”

“Go back to bed, Blake.” Avon told him. “You’re in no state to be useful and we’re a little too busy staying in one piece for chatter. Also you might remember that there is a clothes only policy on this bridge.” 

“Just tell me what you’re doing with my ship!”

“Use your eyes. Cally, firing ready?”

“Ready.”

“Bring us down again, Jenna.”

Liberator swooped planetwards again and her weapons fired. 

**Direct hits on all targets** ” Zen confirmed. **One planetary section remaining. Enemy ships approaching from approximately 173 degrees to horizontal.**

“Jenna, evasive action. Gan! Get him out of here, now!”

Gan and Vila were carrying him away from the flight deck between them despite his fairly feeble attempts to stop them. “I need to know what’s happening!” he insisted. “Put me down!”

“Everything’s fine,” Vila said in a not terribly convincing attempt at being soothing. “We’re destroying the Cantholin crop, just like you planned. You need to rest a bit more, that’s all.”

The ship lurched and they barely kept their feet as they came into the med unit. Gan held him up while Vila reset the controls, then they lifted him back into the gel.

“I don’t want to go back in… “he protested, trying to fight with feeble limbs. “Let me alone.”

“Avon said you had to. Go to sleep, Blake.” Gan’s hand pushed down on his chest and his face slid under the sticky gel. For a moment he felt as if he was drowning and panicked, then everything drifted away. 

 

He awoke, lying on a bed that felt like his own and wearing his own clothes. Through shut eyelids he could tell the light was on, fairly dimmed.

Maybe if he was alone he could make a break for it. Blake opened his eyes.

“Ah, awake,” Cally said. She sounded untroubled. “How do you feel?”

“What’s going on?” Blake hitched himself up on his elbows. Cally had been reading; she put down her tablet. 

“Nothing. Everything’s fine. How are you?”

Everything could not possibly be fine if Blake’s memories were accurate. “Where are we?”

“Out in deep space, waiting for you to wake up.” 

Visions of jettisoned bodies came rather too clear. “Why?”

Cally frowned at him. “You seem a bit agitated. Shall I get Avon?”

“Are you going to sedate me again?”

The frown deepened. “Do you need a sedative? I’ll call Avon to sit with you while I get one.” 

“No!” He swung his legs off the bed, found he could stand without dizziness. He felt undamaged. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“Six days.” 

“Hell!” Avon could have done anything in that time. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Do with you?” Cally’s puzzlement appeared genuine. “I imagine you probably want a meal. Is that what you mean? I’ll get Avon. I know he wanted to talk to you as soon as you woke up.” 

“I don’t want to see Avon.” Not now, not until he had a bit more idea of how far the betrayals went and some sort of plan for recovering his ship. “Is everyone following his orders now?”

Cally laughed. “You know what he’s like if you argue with him. I think he gets delusions of grandeur when you’re out of the picture.” 

Blake couldn’t quite see where the amusement came in. “And what about now I’m awake again? Will you still follow him?”

She sighed. “Do try to leave us out of your fights, Blake. It isn’t really fair on everyone else to try to make us take sides in your arguments.”

That seemed depressingly clear enough. 

“I’m feeling fine now. Could you give me some time on my own, Cally? I’d like to have a shower.”

“Of course.” She rose gracefully and moved to the door. “Everyone will be so glad you’re feeling better. Let Avon know when you’re ready to talk to him. I know he’s anxious to see you as soon as possible.” 

That was a confrontation Blake intended to put off for a while longer. He set his shower running then settled down at his console to interrogate Zen. The ship must have some answers, surely? 

What had happened was easy enough to reconstruct. “Whys” were in shorter supply. Three days after picking Blake up and leaving the Septimus system, the ship had turned round, returned at close to maximum speed and started to bomb the Cantholin plantations from orbit. The local fleet had launched a fairly ineffectual attack on Liberator, which had destroyed two of their ships and completed the on-planet destruction with devastating environmental effects. 

Blake stared at the pictures of the plumes of smoke miles high, the hospital wards full of coughing children in homemade face masks, the official broadcasts telling everyone to stay inside unless absolutely necessary. Bad enough that this had been his plan, but Avon and the others had carried it out and Zen couldn’t tell him why. 

He went for the shower at that point, because he felt filthy and he couldn’t think of what else to do. The hot water revived him a little and he thought of a possibility. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he returned to the console.

“Zen, was there any communication between Liberator and Septimus Beta after I was picked up.”

**Affirmative.**

“Give me details.”

**From Kerr Avon on Liberator to planetwide broadcast, approximately fifteen minutes before the bombardment of the planet surface commenced.**

Planet wide? That was not quite what he’d expected. “Play it back to me.”

**The record has been deleted.**

“Give me a transcript.”

**The transcript has been deleted.**

“Who deleted it?”

**Kerr Avon.**

No surprise there. “Do you have any record of any discussion of the broadcast on Liberator or the planet? Anything at all?”

**All relevant records have been deleted.**

He sat back, contemplating the screen. At least this was cold evidence that Avon had betrayed him. What now?

**Message from Kerr Avon.**

Blake repressed a shudder. “Go ahead.”

Avon’s voice sounded no different from usual. “If you’re well enough to go poking around Liberator’s archives, I presume you’re well enough for a visitor. I’ll be over in a minute with coffee.”

Blake had no allies and nowhere to run to. He wanted his ship back, He dressed, as calmly as he could, and waited.


	5. Chapter 5

“Coffee.” Avon placed both mugs down on the table. “How are you feeling?”

“Do we really need to pretend?” Blake asked.

“Pretend what?”

“That you have anything like my best interests at heart, for a start.” Blake reached out for one of the coffees, then paused. “Is this one supposed to be mine?”

“Neither of them is poisoned, if that’s your concern.” 

It hadn’t been, not seriously. Still, he’d felt a twinge of disquiet taking anything from Avon right now. 

“You do seem to be very nervous about something.” Avon settled in a chair. “You’ve been unconscious for a long time. I imagine you have questions about what’s happened.”

“I had a great number of questions,” Blake told him. He took a gulp of the coffee. God, he’d needed that. “But most of them are, on reflection, totally irrelevant.”

“Oh?”

“All the hows, for a start. Does it really matter how you interfered with my teleport, or the catalyst, or the crew? And most of the whys have become self evident by now, given the position you’re in.”

“Really? Have they, indeed?” Avon’s expression had become undecipherable. “So you think you’ve figured out everything you need to know?”

“I’ve still got two questions.” Blake put the mug down. This wasn’t easy but it had to be done. “Was it really necessary to use the prospect of sex to distract me? Don’t you think that was more than a little despicable?”

“Was that both questions, or just one?”

“One.”

“So what’s the other one?” Avon said, his face now showing nothing but mild curiosity. 

“Why did you attack Septimus Beta?”

Avon half smiled. “Why do you think I did it? You seen to have plenty of ideas about my motivations at the moment.”

“The only thing I can imagine was that you had a deal with someone on-planet.”

Avon raised his eyebrows. “I see. I suppose that might be close enough to the truth.”

“Who?”

Avon picked up his own drink. “I can’t answer either of your questions.”

“Can’t, or won’t?

“Won’t, if you insist on strict accuracy.”

“Why did you erase that recording?”

“That’s a third question.”

“Would it answer the second?”

Avon snorted with very little amusement in the sound. “Quite the detective today, aren’t you? Yes, it would answer the second, and doubtless the first as well. That’s the first intelligent deduction you’ve made since you woke up. Every other so-called thought that has apparently gone through your head today has been both unutterably stupid and completely wrong.” 

He put the half finished drink down. His voice had lifted slightly. It was a good act; Blake could almost think him genuinely annoyed. “I’ll leave you to fester in your paranoia, shall I? When you’re ready to rejoin the rest of the human race, just let someone know.” And he walked out.

 

Avon was his adversary. Cally had made her allegiance clear. Gan and Vila had dragged him off his own flight deck, forced him into the med unit and set it to keep him unconscious on Avon’s orders, orders which Zen had prioritised in front of Blake’s. That left only Jenna and Orac. 

Blake sipped the coffee and contemplated his options. He didn’t hold out much hope for Jenna, who was no doubt under the influence of whatever Avon had done to the rest of the crew. It would be foolish to put his trust in her just because she hadn’t yet shown her hand. She must have been on the flight deck when Avon ordered him taken away; he hadn’t heard any protests. 

Orac’s allegiances had never been obvious. It obeyed the orders of whoever had control of its physical form, except when it didn’t. Self preservation seemed to be its primary goal. If Avon had sabotaged the catalyst to cause the ‘accident’ that had nearly killed Blake then Orac must have helped, or at least been aware. If Blake managed to get into a position to physically threaten the computer then it would probably tell him what had happened. Whether or not it could help him regain control of the ship was considerably more doubtful. 

Orac’s assistance was also dependent on Avon having carelessly left both computer and key where Blake could get hold of them. The chances of that, he reckoned, were very slim indeed. 

No help, then. Since Avon had apparently left him free to act (at which thought he checked that his door was still unlocked and it was) the man obviously thought he could achieve nothing. Blake would just have to prove him wrong. All he needed now was an idea as to how.

Cally had been right about one thing. Blake was hungry. He decided to do something about that first, then see if he could work out what Avon’s plans might be.

 

“Blake!” He looked up from his meal. Vila was grinning at him. “You’re better!” He narrowed his eyes, “No, actually you still look a bit peaky. I reckon what you need is a holiday.”

“A holiday?” 

“Yes! A pleasure planet; sun, sea, se…well, sun and sea anyway. It will bring the colour back to your cheeks. As it happens Gabriel 3 is barely a day away. What do you think?”

Blake thought that Vila having detailed information about the local star systems was suspiciously unlikely. So that was Avon’s plan. Maroon him somewhere, probably picked to be supposedly comfortable enough to assuage any doubts the crew might have. And soon, it seemed. Blake smiled back at Vila. “It sounds great”

“Wonderful! I’ll go and tell Avon, shall I?”

“I think you probably should, yes. How else will he know where to take us?” Blake’s sarcasm was clearly lost on the man.

Avon, unsurprisingly, seemed quite content to make Gabriel 3 their next stop. Blake kept mostly to himself for the time it took to travel there, pleading a little residual tiredness and staying off the bridge. No-one seemed particularly keen on talking to him anyway. It must be awkward for them, he supposed. It was even more so for him, knowing what was waiting.

 

A day later they were all gathered on the teleport bay, apart from Avon at the controls. The others were talking quietly and watching him surreptitiously, just as they had done since he woke up. Avon at the teleport controls was still cold and monosyllabic. Only Vila was making any attempt to pretend that this was the relaxing break that it seemed, and as usual he was overplaying it.

“Sixteen hundred swimming pools, Blake! Fancy that!”

“I can only swim in one at a time, and Liberator has a perfectly functional pool.”

“But these are in real sunshine, next to real sandy beaches!” Vila signed happily. “Three days with no explosions and no-one shooting at us.”

“Don’t tempt fate,” Avon muttered, and louder. “Ready?” 

As he started to move the slider, Blake turned his back, apparently to speak to Jenna behind him, and slid his bracelet off his wrist. He waited five seconds after the others disappeared then detonated the explosive hidden in the console. Avon had started towards him as he stood alone on the empty floor and was thrown sideways by the blast. 

Blake moved fast, flinging himself on top of the prostrate man. Avon was bleeding from a couple of cuts from the flying plastic but otherwise seemed unhurt. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, pinned down by Blake’s weight.

“Not going to Gabriel 3.” Blake wrenched Avon’s wrists together and tied them behind him with the cable he’d secreted in a pocket earlier. Then he climbed to his feet. 

“Have you gone quite mad?” Avon enquired. He struggled to his feet and turned to the wrecked teleport console. “How are the others meant to get back?”

Blake shrugged. “I’m not sure that they are, yet. It depends on what you tell me. The auto-repair will fix it in a day or so I imagine, if I want them back on board” 

“Hell.” Avon stared at him. “This is all part of your paranoia, I presume. Clearly I should have taken better precautions but I thought you’d retained some reason. What exactly are you trying to achieve?” 

“I’m after justice. Where’s Orac?”

“Orac? In the rec room.”

“And the key?”

“My pocket. What are you trying to do, steal it?”

“Not at all. I have something to ask Orac. I think we should go and join it now.” He gestured ahead of him. Avon closed his eyes briefly in apparent exasperation but went where he was told.

“You are aware, “ Blake asked Orac, “of the function of justice machines as used in the Federation?”

_Naturally._

“Would you be capable of carrying out that function?”

_Federation justice machines are barely competent at basic logic. My capacity for assessing evidence is magnitudes greater. Who is on trial and for what offence?_

“Kerr Avon,” Blake told it. “For conspiracy, attempted murder, forcible restraint and an attempt to maroon me on Gabriel 3.”

“That’s quite a mouthful. At least I get to know what form your craziness taken this way,” Avon said. “I suppose I should be grateful that you haven’t chosen to be judge, jury and executioner yourself. What will you do if it finds me not guilty?”

“I want justice,” Blake told him. “Not revenge. If you’re found not guilty I’ll release you, but it won’t happen. Orac’s smarter than you, even if I’m not. Are you prepared to carry out this function, Orac?”

_I am. What is the evidence for the prosecution?_

“Sit down,” Blake told Avon. “This may take a while.” Avon shrugged and sat. 

Blake gave Orac a word by word account of Avon’s late night visit. It wasn’t hard to remember precisely what had been said; he’d spent a lot of time thinking about the exact phrasing. 

“Am I allowed to cross examine?” Avon asked from his seat. 

_Not now._ Orac said. _You may ask questions as part of the defence evidence._

“Very well.” He nodded at Blake. “Do continue. I’m sure you’ll explain the relevance to attempted murder shortly.”

“I’m sure Orac can work it out,” Blake retorted. He moved onto to the catalyst and Avon’s inexplicable decision to make it himself while Blake slept, their argument over Blake taking over and then Avon’s trip down to Septimus Beta and his refusal to explain what he had done down there.

Avon sighed at that point, but said nothing.

Blake carefully explained how the “accident” with the pipework had apparently happened, then about seeing Avon teleport away without him. He found it hard to keep his voice steady at this point, but he did his best to be calm and factual. 

“You are a feeble minded idiot.” Avon said. 

“Shut up,” Blake retorted. “You’ll get your turn.” 

He went on to the half hearted “negotiations” with Forsen in which Avon had refused to offer a ransom, the attack on Septimus Beta that he had interrupted only to be hauled away and sedated, the lost loyalties of his crew and the discovery of the erasure of the recording of whatever Avon had broadcast to the planet before the attack, then finally the trip to Gabriel 3 that he had managed to escape. 

“Is that it?” Avon said, when he stopped. “That’s all your ‘evidence’?”

“That’s quite enough. Orac, that’s the prosecution evidence complete. Shall we see what he’s got to say for himself?” 

“No,” Avon said.

_Defence evidence must commence now._

“No,” Avon said, louder this time. “This is one particular game that I refuse to play, Blake. You’re not just a fool and an idiot but a dangerous fool and an idiot and I have no intention of humouring you by playing along. Either untie me or do whatever it is you plan as punishment.”

_Does the defence plead guilty?_

“I plead nothing. If you insist on going on with this farce you can do it without me.”

Blake found himself bitterly disappointed that he would never know what Avon’s motives really had been. Still, he would have some sort of justice; that was something. “There,” he said to Orac. “You’ll just have to work on what you’ve got. 

_Prosecution evidence received. Defence evidence waived. Considering…_

There was silence for some time. Blake stared determinedly at Avon, who was contemplating the star field on the main viewscreen. How could he ever have thought they might have something together? Avon had been selfish and untrustworthy right from the beginning. There would be an end to it now. The logic that the man had always professed to follow would condemn him and Blake would leave him on Gabriel 3 just as Avon had planned for him. 

Orac finally made a small electronic clearing of the throat noise and both men looked at it.

 _There is a major error in the prosecution evidence._ it said.

“What error?” Blake had been extremely careful with what he’d said. He had restricted himself to his own observations and had left Orac to draw the inevitable conclusions. He was sure nothing he’d said was factually inaccurate.

“More to the point, how could it possibly have taken you that long to review that much evidence? What have you been doing?” Avon demanded.

 _I reviewed the evidence and identified the error in six point three microseconds._ Orac said. _I then provided a pause of sufficient length to satisfy the human desire for dramatic effect, during which time I continued with the important work that you had interrupted._

Blake had no interest in Orac’s theory of dramatic tension. “What error?” he repeated. 

_You stated that all records of Kerr Avon’s communication with Septimus Beta had been erased. This statement is untrue. A copy has been retained in my personal memory banks._

“Show me!” Blake demanded, just as Avon said “Erase it!” They were both on their feet now, glaring at each other from a couple of feet away. Avon was struggling to get his hands free from the cable that restricted them. For the first time Blake thought that he looked genuinely disturbed.


	6. Chapter 6

“Erase it!” Avon demanded a second time, looming over the machine.

_Impossible. It contains information directly relevant to the charges against you._

“Then I plead guilty. Case closed. This evidence is no longer necessary. Erase it.”

“What are you admitting?” Blake said, astonished and even more suspicious at this turn of events.

“Oh, everything.” Avon waved an irritated hand at him. “I plotted to kill you and to steal Liberator. Go ahead, Orac. Pronounce the verdict.” 

“Wait a moment. What about bombing Septimus Beta?” 

Avon glared at him. “That?” He paused. “Well, I was working with Terra Nostra. They wanted an example made of Septimus Beta’s appropriation of their property.”

“You were working with Terra Nostra?” Blake had thought that he wanted explanations from Avon, but these were devastating. “How could you?”

“For the money, of course. Maybe it will teach you not to trust just anyone with a pretty face. Go on, what’s your sentence? Let’s get this over with.”

“I can’t,” Blake said, quietly. “I thought I could, but I can’t. Orac will have to do it. Orac, what should the sentence be?” 

_The sentence must follow the verdict._

“Verdict first then.” He couldn’t bear to look at Avon any more.

_Not guilty on all charges._

“What?” Blake stared at the box. “He just admitted it!”

_I am capable of detecting extremely subtle lies. One that blatant hardly taxed my programming for a microsecond._

Avon said nothing.

“What about all my evidence?” Blake demanded.

_Your evidence was entirely circumstantial in nature and unconvincing in the extreme, with the exception of the erasure of the broadcast._

“And what about that?”

_Given my understanding of human psychology and having reviewed the contents of the broadcast I found that there were convincing alternative reasons for the erasure._

“Like what?” 

“None of your business,” Avon said sharply. “It appears that we are done here, Orac. You may return to your computations. Will you please now untie me, Blake?”

Blake ignored him. “Orac. Show me the broadcast.”

 _That is unnecessary,_ Orac said. _The trial is over. In addition I note that Kerr Avon does not wish the broadcast to be shown._

Avon narrowed his eyes at the machine. “No, I want it erased.”

 _Also unnecessary. Please remove my key. I have spent enough time on this pointless venture. I have work to do._

“I don’t understand,” Blake said, a little helplessly. “If it proves his innocence why not show me?”

“Because that thing is entirely unscrupulous,” Avon said, sounding tired. “It calculates that the file might be useful for negotiating with one or other of us later, something that will not be the case if it either shows it to you or erases it. Will you now untie me? I believe that you undertook to accept Orac’s verdict and my fingers went numb some time ago.”

Blake gestured for him to turn round and tackled the knot. “Was it right, though? About your innocence?”

“What part of “accept the verdict” are you having trouble with? In the circumstances you might consider calling a halt to the accusations and tendering an apology instead. My wrists are quite painful and I now have a long and unnecessary job ahead fixing the teleport.”

“How can I? Orac might call it all circumstantial, but it still happened. And you lied to me. Maybe if you explained?”

“You don’t deserve an explanation, and you don’t need one. If you can’t figure that out for yourself it’s clear that our partnership, such as it was, has come rather brutally to the end of its useful life.” Avon stretched out his fingers, wincing, wiped a little blood from a scratch on his face. “I’ll try to get the communications working straight away, at least. The others will be frantic down there by now with you missing and no word from the ship at all. We can discuss the terms on which one of us leaves Liberator later.” He plucked the key from Orac’s box, pocketed it and stalked away.

 

“Coffee?”

Avon had his head inside the shattered console. Wires and tools littered the floor around him. Blake put both mugs down nearby and looked at the man's back.

“The pipe splitting was an accident,” he said. 

Nothing. 

“My teleport bracelet could have got damaged by the acid.” 

“Complete shut down.” Avon's voice came muffled. “We couldn't even get a trace on your location until your captors conveniently broadcast it.” 

“Right.” Blake paused. “And I guess you thought I was still unwell, on the flight deck.” 

“Unwell? That’s one way to put it. You were dying.” Avon stood up and turned round. The cuts to his face were dark red against his skin. “Ten hours previously you'd undergone multiple organ failure. The ship calculated that you were unlikely to survive even in the med unit. Without it you'd have been dead in minutes.” He walked over to sample one of the coffees. “Crawling about the ship in that state- you have appallingly little sense of self preservation.” 

Ten hours? That rang a bell. It had been nearly ten hours from Liberator turning back to the start of the bombardment. 

“You came back to Septimus Beta because you though I was going to die?” 

“It was a collective decision.” Avon selected a set of wire cutters and turned back to the console. 

“To get the antidote.” 

“You were long past the point when that would have done any good.” He was facing away again. 

Blake thought of the coughing children. “Not revenge, surely?”

“We made a deal for your life, they failed to meet their side of the bargain. What did you expect us to do?”

Blake ran a hand through his hair. “Christ. Not that. And what the hell did you say to them that you’re so desperate for me not to hear?”

Avon seemed to disappear further into the unit. His voice was barely audible. “Various things that I regretted almost immediately afterwards. Let it go, Blake.”

“Did the others hear you say them?”

A long pause, a reluctant “I think we should leave it at that.” And even more reluctantly, “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Blake did mind, acutely, but he couldn’t see any decent way to press the point. 

“I suppose Vila just wanted a holiday, then,” he said, moving onto what should be safer territory. 

“He usually does. In this case it didn't seem like an entirely stupid idea of his. You had barely pulled through the acid poisoning by the skin of your teeth, after all. Even when the med unit had done all it could you were raving nonsense and generally acting as if you badly needed a break.” Avon sounded rather more like his normal self, but Blake couldn’t see his face. 

“That’s all the answers I’ve got,” he said, trying to sound reasonably cheerful. “Everything else on the list remains inexplicable.” 

“A few mysteries in life are good for you. No go somewhere else. I have to focus for the next bit.”

“Can I give you a hand?”

“You’ve done quite enough damage already. Go away.”

“Ok.” He didn’t move though. Eventually Avon stepped back from the console and turned round to him again. “Well?”

“I’m sorry that I accused you of trying to kill me. The catalyst and the teleport bracelet- I didn’t think it through.”

Avon didn’t smile. “You accused me of rather more than that.”

“There was the attempt to maroon me- yes, I’m sorry about that too. I’m sure I’ll be sorry about the various other things, too, later on when I work out what really happened.”

“Is that all I get?”

“For now. I’ll be working on it, though.” He smiled at Avon for what felt like the first time in weeks. “I’ve never liked unsolved mysteries. Let me know when you’re ready for a break and I’ll sort out some food.”

 

Despite his attempt at good humour, Blake spent the afternoon mooching around the flight deck and fretting about the various revelations. Things were better, undoubtedly, than when he’d thought his crew had turned against him and Avon was trying to kill him, or at least indifferent to his fate. But not being the end of the world wasn’t the same as everything being all right. Avon had lied to him, Septimus Beta had gone up in flames and the entirely inadequate apology that had been all that Blake could face offering the still perfidious man would need to be considerably more sincere to satisfy his deliberately marooned crew.

Avon was talking about one of them leaving. Not necessarily Avon, one of them. Blake suspected that if it came down to a popularity contest with the others right at the moment he’d probably lose. He didn’t know whether he wanted Avon to leave or not, but that probably didn’t matter because he was pretty sure that was out of his hands by now. It was a mess, start to finish. 

**Message from Kerr Avon. Communication with the teleport bracelets has been re-established.**

“Tell him I’ll be right there.” Blake set off for the teleport room at a fast walk. 

“Let me talk to them,” he demanded as he entered.

“I’ve turned it off again so I can get on with the teleport repairs.” Avon picked up his screwdriver again. “They are all fine, by the way. Puzzled but fine. I’ve told them we hope to pick them up tomorrow.”

“It’s going to take that long to repair?” Blake was somewhat dismayed.

“I shouldn’t think so. Another hour or two should do it.”

“So why not tonight?”

“Don’t you think we should settle our differences before they get back?” Avon turned back to his work. “I should get this done now. There’s no knowing when someone might need it. You mentioned food- how about dinner in two hours? Your rooms or mine?”

Blake had been assuming that they’d eat in the galley as normal. Invitations to other people’s rooms were surprisingly infrequent; they all tended to nurse what little privacy they had onboard. “Mine, I suppose, if I’m meant to be organising a meal.” 

“Very well. I’ll see you then.”

Tidying his rooms provided Blake with a little distraction. By the time Avon turned up he had dug out not only a low table to go in front of two couches but glasses and crockery a little better than Liberator’ standard issue. Avon scanned the silk tablecloths with apparent amusement.

“Very nice.”

“This is a special occasion, after all.” Blake gestured to one couch. “Wine?”

“Thank you.” 

He poured two glasses, handed one over and they reclined at right angles to each other.

“It’s obvious what this is about.”

“Oh?”

“You don’t want the others to tell me about that broadcast when they return. You can’t keep us apart indefinitely. How do you intend to stop them?”

Avon watched him over the crystal glass. “I’m not yet certain. I have a few ideas.”

Blake sighed. “Wouldn’t it be far better just to tell me yourself and get it over with? Whatever it is, I doubt that I’ll be as shocked as you imagine.”

Avon leaned forward to put the drink down. “How are your other mysteries coming along? Found any clues yet?”

“Do you find this situation amusing?” Blake countered.

“In places, undoubtedly. Don’t you?” 

“No.”

“Your mysteries annoy you?”

“I can’t trust you any more.” Blake got up to serve the food “That’s a little worse than just annoying.”

“Come on Blake.” Avon took a plate and lounged back again. “Did you ever really trust me?”

“Yes, I did. It might have been foolish, but I really did.” 

Ah.. Blake expected Avon to say something cutting about his naivety at that point but he just picked a few bits off his plate instead. Eventually he looked up again. 

"I did tell you it was a game. "

"That didn't matter. This does."

"I see." Avon went back to eating. 

Blake put down his own plate untouched. "What are we going to do now, Avon?" 

“Go back to how things were." Avon's voice seemed rather more tentative than usual. 

"No." 

"Over a few words?"

"Over a lie. Probably more than one."

"Really? Have you never been lied to before?"

"Not by you. Not as far as I know, anyway." Blake seemed to have finished his wine. He poured himself a second, larger glass. 

"You're the one who put me on trial for what I presumed was something like my life over a series of what I hesitate to grace with the name misunderstandings. Misjudgement. Appalling misjudgements. Yours, not mine." Annoyance seemed to have given Avon's tone certainty again. "What makes you think you now have a right to everything in my head?" 

"I don't want everything in your head! I just want to know what you broadcast to a whole fucking planet of forty million people but have gone to extreme lengths to keep from me. What the hell does that say about our relationship, Avon? "

Avon shoved the plate he was holding back onto the table and stood up. "What does it say about our relationship? If you had an iota of sense you'd know. I'm thoroughly tired of this. If I have to spell it out to you it’s clearly not worth saying. I'll leave in the morning. Goodnight." 

Blake let him walk out. What else could he do? He started to pick up the remains of the barely touched meal. What did Avon think he had to spell out to him? How was he meant to guess what the man had said to Septimus Beta, and if he could just guess it, why would Avon go to such lengths to keep it from him? What do you say to a planet you're about to bomb, anyway? He didn't even know why they'd attacked it, not really.

“Zen. Who ordered you to turn back to Septimus Beta?” 

**Kerr Avon.**

“Do you have a record of the command?”

**That record has been erased.**

Of course it had. Blake looked down at the food congealing on the plates. Why was he bothering doing this? “Zen, get my quarters cleaned up.” 

**Confirmed.**

“Zen, what was Kerr Avon doing in the six hours before he gave you the command to turn back?” 

**Kerr Avon was in the medical room.**

“Injured?” 

**Negative.**

“So what was he doing?” 

**He occupied a chair. He interrogated the med unit about your condition. He spoke to the other crew members. He ate and drank. He used the sanitary facilities.**

“For six hours?” 

**For fifty six hours and fifty three minutes.**

“Have you copies of the conversations with other crew members?” 

**Those records...**

"Have been erased. I get the idea. Where is Avon now?” 

**Kerr Avon is in his quarters.**

Right. 

 

 

Avon frowned at him on opening the door. Behind him Blake could see heaps of items and open bags. He was packing to leave. 

“You overlooked something in your purge of Zen’s records,” Blake said, a little breathless from the run across the ship.

“Overlooked what?” 

“Zen's records of crew movements. I know where you were for the three days before you turned back to Septimus Beta.” 

Avon closed his eyes briefly. “Ah. That was careless of me,” he said, voice stiff. 

"So shall we have another conversation, now that I have some idea of what's going on? Or are you just going to run away?"

“Running away has never sounded so appealing,” Avon said, but he moved aside to let Blake in. 

“Thank you.” Blake moved a load of papers off a chair and sat down. 

“So,” Avon said, tone still unnaturally stilted. "Where are you going to start the interrogation this time?"

“I thought I'd skip all that,” Blake said, “and just make a pass at you. I am, as you pointed out, a physical sort of person.” 

Avon seemed rooted to the spot on the other side of the room. Eventually he said “When you didn’t take up my suggestion I thought you weren’t interested.” 

“That was a suggestion? I thought it was more like a dare.”

Avon shrugged. “Either way, you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t. I wanted some inkling as to how you felt about it first, while you seemed determined to ensure that I should remain in total ignorance. Would it have been so hard to drop the odd clue?”

Avon glared at him. “I made your stupid catalyst for you and I burned half a planet down. How big a clue did you need?”

They seemed to be on the verge of another argument, and that surely wasn’t Blake’s fault? “So I’m doing it now, anyway. Are you turning me down or not?”

Avon unexpectedly smiled. “It may disappoint you to know that even after a proposal that belligerently worded, I’m not.”

“Not turning me down?” Blake was just checking.

“Not turning you down, no.”

“Good.” He looked across the width of the room that parted them. “Are you going to come over here, then?”

“No. I think you should come over here. You are supposedly the one soliciting.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” Blake hauled himself up from the chair. “All right, then.” He crossed the floor to face Avon, who very obviously made absolutely no movement towards melting into his arms. Fine. He’d do it himself. Blake reached out a hand to Avon’s cheek and the man unexpectedly shuddered. Blake didn’t know quite what to make of that so he ignored it, leaning in instead to touch lips.

Avon had shut his eyes. He wasn’t doing anything, his hands at his sides. Disconcerted, Blake thought he’d try once more at least. He slid his own hands around the back of the man’s head and kissed him rather more vigorously. A hand tightened painfully in his hair, an arm pulled him by the waist about as close against Avon as it was possible to get and Avon kissed him back, mouth open, tongue fierce and demanding and for a very long time.

Blake finally disengaged, with some difficulty. “Oh,” he said. “So…?”

“Shut up,” Avon said, “and get back here.”

Blake obliged. A few minutes later he disengaged again. “We can’t stand here kissing all evening,” he pointed out.

“Why not?”

“Mainly because the lack of oxygen is making me dizzy and there isn’t anywhere comfortable to fall over in here.”

Avon looked momentarily contrite. “You’re still recovering. You should have said something.”

“That’s rich coming from the prince of not saying anything ever. Anyway I did just say something.”

“We could go to bed.” There was a hint of question in Avon’s voice.

“We could,” Blake agreed. Things were moving a little faster than he’d expected but he didn’t object. Avon passionate was something of a revelation, one he didn’t quite feel he yet understood.

“Something the matter?” Avon asked, warily.

“I just wasn’t expecting you to hold on so tight,” he said honestly.

“I’ve nearly lost you more times than I care to count in the last few days.” Avon’s voice had roughened a little. “I’m completely exposed and I still don’t know what you think…what you feel… except for that.” He gestured down at Blake’s groin. “Which could mean nothing at all except that you’re horny and I’m available.” He shrugged. “That’s not your problem, of course. It's mine. If it bothers you I’ll back off and we can just fuck.”

Blake stared at him. “Haven’t I told you how I feel?”

“Not a word,” Avon said.

“Oh.” He thought about it. No he hadn’t, had he? He hadn’t really stopped long enough to work it out himself. He was pretty sure he was about to find out however. “Why don’t we go to bed and I’ll show you?”

 

“So what do you think of my plan to keep the others off the ship a while longer now?” Avon's voice was low against his ear. 

“Disappointing.” Blake said to the ceiling. He was lying naked on his back with Avon's arm over his chest, a warm thigh pressing lightly against his crotch and feeling utterly content. 

“Oh?” He could feel the man tensing slightly. 

“If we can only have sex when there's no one else on board it's going to cramp my style a little.” 

“Ah.” Avon said, curling up closer. "No. I was planning to do it as often as physiologically possible. At least till the novelty wears off." 

“I'm just your novelty then?” Blake said, to see how Avon would respond.

“You are,” Avon said, drawing a hand up to kiss it, “my passion. Something I don't intend to say again later so do try to remember.” 

“I'll do my best.” Avon's current mix of avowal and reserve was rather endearing, Blake thought. Which reminded him ... 

"What did you say on that broadcast?"

"That you don't get to know. Now or ever."

"I could ask the others." He was mostly teasing. 

"They won't tell you. I can be far more intimidating than you can, Roj Blake."

"Bully." He slid a hand up Avon's thigh, investigating. Definitely the start of a reaction there. Another few minutes and they could start again. "What about your trip down to the planet then? Will you please at least tell me what you were doing then?" 

"Since you ask nicely, yes I will." Avon seemed temporarily distracted by the taste of Blake’s fingers. Blake let him carry on for a while until curiosity overcame pleasure. "Go on then." 

"Oh, that? I went for a walk."

Blake waited for the punchline but none came. "A walk? On your own?" 

"Yes. After your behaviour in the lab I was feeling a little agitated. Walking Liberator's corridors is not inspiring and I didn't particularly want to be observed so I teleported down to what was reputed to be a tranquil and risk free area of the planet and went for a stroll. When I'd finished I came back."

"You could have just told me that." It might have saved a lot of misunderstandings later.

"You could have enquired politely but you didn't." 

“Huh.”

There was a silence, attended with quite a lot of stroking and kissing in a non urgent sort of way but still a silence that Blake became aware that he ought to be filling. He’d said things during sex, of course, encouraging and flattering things, but there were things he hadn’t said but Avon had and he knew that Avon was waiting to see if he would say them now. 

Blake was tempted to fill the silence with banter and sex. It was easier than trying to untangle his emotions enough to talk about them, but it wouldn’t do. He rolled over on his side to smooth a hand through Avon’s hair. “I didn’t expect this. I haven’t been seriously thinking about it.”

“That much is obvious.”

“So there are no words that I’ve been waiting to say to you for a long time.”

“That follows, yes.”

“You know those revelatory moments when everything slides into place?”

“Mm.” One of Avon’s hands was travelling up the inside of his thigh but Blake could tell that he still had the man’s full attention.

“It isn’t one of those moments either.”

“Ah.” 

“I’m pretty sure this is the best thing that has happened to me since... Well, since I can remember. But it’s going to take me a little while to process it.”

Avon’s hand had stopped moving. “You need some space?” His tone was cautious.

“Space is really not the issue. I intend to stay right here in your bed until you throw me out. But I do need a little time before I’m ready to explain how I feel. Not long, I promise you. I’m not going to keep you hanging on.”

“I will doubtless hang on for as long as you let me. But then you knew that.” There was a touch of bitterness in Avon’s voice as if it hurt him to be so exposed. Blake kissed him. It was all he could think of to do.

“Trust me,” he said. “Please.” That was a great deal to ask after the last few days, he knew. 

There was a pause. Then Avon said, more lightly, “You’re in luck. That seems to come as part of the deal. Very well, do your thinking. God knows I shouldn’t discourage you from your rare forays into rational thought. I’ll wait for the conclusions.”

“Thank you. If you do decide you want me to think somewhere else…”

“No.” Avon said sharply. ”I want you right here.”

“Good. I want to be right here.”

Avon nodded. “That, at least, I’m prepared to take at face value.” He stretched, grimacing. “I’m starving; I’m guessing your special meal didn’t turn out particularly digestible for either of us. I suggest we eat something before I provide you with some more material to think about.” 

“I’m always open to collecting more data,” Blake told him. “Food, then, but make it quick. I’d hate to let the bed get cold.”

“Little chance of that.” Avon rolled onto his feet and offered a hand to Blake as easily as if they’d been doing this for months. There was something about the solidity and warmth of those fingers against his that made Blake suspect that maybe he wouldn’t have to keep Avon waiting very long but for the moment he just let himself be pulled up into a last tight hold before Avon released him and turned, complaining about the room's disarray, in search of his clothes. 

 

The End


End file.
